


Murder Splits the Soul

by Winterblume



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Gen, Insanity, Moral Ambiguity, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterblume/pseuds/Winterblume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger, with her world in shambles, decides to pay Tom Riddle a visit in the past. After all, he is the root of all evil. It is a mission that drives Hermione on and she will do whatever it takes to see that mission accomplished. Riddle, though, wouldn't be a Dark Lord in the making if he didn't spot something suspicous in the new girl at Hogwart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kill the Future

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> I wrote this fic for the Spring Fic Exchanged hosted by the Tomione Forum. It's a gift fic to all the awesome people who entered the exchange and gave us lots of Tomione stories to read.

Hermione’s gaze travelled over the castle in front of her. It was a beautiful sight how the ancient building clung to the slight slope of the Scottish landscape. Hermione remembered how happy she had been, living in that castle. Over six years it had grown to be her home. It still was the same castle. She could hardly spot any changes. If she hadn’t known that she had just travelled back more than 50 years into the past, Hermione wouldn’t have seen any differences to her Hogwarts.

Time travel. Now, wasn’t that an interesting concept? Time, such a certain thing. It flowed by, always and unalterable. Yet, here she was. A little Mudblood had managed to travel back in time. The future of this world lay in the palm of her hand.

“You must be Miss Granger,” a voice brought her out of her thoughts.

Hermione plastered a pleasant smile on her face as she looked at the auburn-haired man who was her welcoming committee.

“Yes, sir,” Hermione replied evenly.

The wizard gave her a warm smile. “Welcome to Hogwarts then, Miss Granger. I am Professor Dumbledore, deputy headmaster and Transfiguration teacher.”

Hermione’s smile never wavered as she shook the dead man’s hand. “It is a pleasure, Professor Dumbledore.”

As the professor led Hermione to Hogwarts’ castle, he merrily told her about the school, its history, the course work, the Houses and, really, everything else Hermione already knew. It left her thoughts time to wander to her mission.

Hermione didn’t travel back in time on a whim. She had a mission and she had to make sure to accomplish it. Thoughts of that mission brought back words Hermione had heard years ago. _‘Bad things happen to wizards who change time.’_ A thin smile flashed over Hermione’s face. The stern words of her former transfiguration teacher were probably true, but Hermione didn’t want to heed them anymore. The time she had left behind was a time of war, death and loss. Everyone Hermione had ever loved was dead. Her world lay in ruins and the tyranny that was built on top of it was not worth living in. Surely, her being in the past could not possibly make things any worse.

So, here she was, where everything had started. Hermione’s hand tightened around the handle of her trunk as she followed Dumbledore.

…here she was, indeed. This time, though, not without a mission.

 

{{{{{{{{+}}}}}}}}


	2. Kill my Memories

There, they were: His soldiers. Yet little boys, but they would, as Hermione knew, all turn into monsters. Casually, she walked through the Great Hall, the new student. All the while her eyes travelled over the Slytherins. Some faces, though younger still, she recognized, some were strangers.

Silently, Hermione slipped into a seat at the Slytherin table. There was only a marginal swoop of irritation as her gaze shortly slipped over the silver and green uniforms surrounding her. Green and silver, because she was in Slytherin now, as planned, as required. House of the snake. During her time in Hogwarts, Slytherin had always been bad news. But however much she might dislike Slytherin’s house, Hermione knew, in the end, it was meaningless. Shades of green, red, yellow or blue were inconsequential. Evil, as she had learned the hard way, could be hidden anywhere. Cunning or brave, loyal or smart, were nothing but words. In face of darkness they quickly became blurred, unrecognizable.

“Good morning, Ms Granger,” the boy sitting beside her greeted her cordially.

Hermione peered at her seat neighbour. Platinum blond hair, pale skin, rather handsome, it wasn’t difficult to guess who he was. Indeed, he looked a lot like Lucius Malfoy.

“Good morning, Mr…?” Hermione replied blandly.

The boy’s smile widened. “Abraxas Malfoy.” He reached for a pot and gestured at her empty cup. “Tea?”

Hermione smiled thinly and inclined her head.

“We never had a transfer,” the Slytherin commented, pouring her the tea.

“Indeed?” said Hermione.

“Yes,” another boy, tall with light brown hair, supplied. “You are the first Ms Granger.”

Hermione smiled at him. “Then I am honoured.”

“Oh,” the boy said, offering Hermione his hand. “My name’s Avery, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Hermione took his hand, her smile never wavering. She wondered what Avery would do if he knew he was shaking a Muggleborn’s hand. Drop his polite act? Probably.

“Granger… Granger…?” Abraxas mused, tapping his chin in contemplation. “Yes. Yes, I think I know that name.”  
  
 _Here we go_ , Hermione thought, raising her eyebrows at Malfoy. The blond smiled at her and continued,

“Are you by any chance related to Hector Dagworth-Granger? The potioneer?”

What a small world it must be for Purebloods like Malfoy, Hermione thought, slightly amused, slightly disgusted. He was condemned to a world of stagnation. There was no room for cultural exchange, was there? Not for him.

“You are right,” Hermione lied easily. “He was my great-uncle, in fact.”

How simple. How easy it was to just lie when the audience thirsted for untruths. Malfoy, Avery and all the eavesdropping Slytherins were more than satisfied by Hermione’s reply.

“So can we expect some potions miracles from you as well?” asked a black-haired girl.

Hermione looked at her. She was quite beautiful with her long shiny hair and pale complexion. Eyes, grey as the winter sky outside, scanned Hermione expectantly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far,” she replied humbly.

A sly smirk curved the black-haired girl’s thin lips as if she could see right through Hermione’s understatement. She winked at Hermione, her long eyelashes softly touching her skin.

“You’ll be my new potions partner,” the girl decided confidently, grinning slightly. “The name’s Black. Walburga Black. Remember that, so you find your seat in Slughorn’s next class.”

A genuine smile traitorously tugged at Hermione’s lips. Who would have thought? In a pit of snakes, Sirius’ mother was actually the most likeable one. Or, at least, the most entertaining.

Hermione looked at Walburga and slightly inclined her head. “I won’t forget, don’t worry.”

Walburga smirked right back, before she returned to her cup of coffee and her Daily Prophet.

And just like that, Hermione became a Slytherin. Her blood was pure, her manners refined enough and she obviously knew how to lie. Really, they had no reason to suspect her.

 

–

 

For a time traveller, who had seen war and death, it was surprisingly easy to fall back into a student’s routine. After the war-torn world she had left behind, this was quite relaxing. Not even the underhanded power plays among the Slytherins could tax Hermione in any way. After dark wizards had tried to torture the life out of her, she could handle a few deceitful Slytherin students. Over the next week or two, Hermione slipped into Hogwarts’ blissful routine. Books, lessons, homework. It, indeed, was a nice and peaceful world.

It didn’t mean, though, that Hermione forgot the one, most important thing in her life. Her mission was always at the forefront of her mind. For the sake of that mission, Hermione was in the past, in Hogwarts and Slytherin house. For now, she simply lay low. It was after two weeks of her being in the past and pretending to be nothing but a student, that her target decided to approach her.

“You must be Hermione Granger?” a silky voice asked as Hermione meandered down a corridor towards her next class.

She looked up, eyebrows raised. Had she waited for him to finally acknowledge the new student’s presence? Yes, indeed. Hermione had wanted nothing more and nothing less than to talk with _him_. Tom Riddle smiled down at her. His black hair shone attractively, slicked back slightly. His face was even, flawless and very handsome. Riddle was a tall, lean young man with a certain aura around him that seemed to make the very air crackle with his power. Dark eyes looked down at Hermione amicably, smiling at her even. Very much a mask, Hermione knew, if an attractive one.

“Yes,” she replied politely. “And you are…?”

“Tom Riddle,” he said courteously. “Head Boy.”

“Of course, the Head Boy. It is nice to finally meet you,” Hermione lied smoothly and shook his hand.

He was warm and not at all unpleasant to touch. Riddle smiled at her and Hermione averted her eyes shyly, even forcing a blush on her cheeks. Her mask, if anything, was as good as his.

 

–

 

And such started their game. By all means, Riddle wasn’t stupid. Hermione had always known that. Very early on, maybe even since their first conversation in that corridor, he realized that Hermione was not what she pretended to be. Of course, there was never a proof of her deceptions as there was never evidence of his crimes. They didn’t need their transgressions to be laid in the open, though. The game was set and the classrooms, Slytherin’s common room, the Great Hall – the whole of Hogwarts’ castle – became their playing ground. It was like a chess board and Ron, if Hermione said so herself, would have been proud of her.

Riddle watched her. Sometimes he used his followers, sometimes he did it himself. Hermione always smiled knowingly, but never said anything. While he was watching her, she was getting closer to him. She researched, gathered more and more information on Riddle. It was indeed a very unfortunate day as she found out that he had already created his first two Horcruxes. It was vexing, but Hermione knew her mission required her to overcome this obstacle. Her mission, the last remnant of her old life, was everything. Lord Voldemort had burned her world, only mere ashes had been left over. He had killed everyone she had held dear, everyone she had ever loved. The only thing Hermione could now grasp on to was her mission.

“Hermione,” Riddle greeted her, his deep voice velvety soft in her ears.

Letting the thoughts of her past drift away, Hermione smiled up at him, something suspiciously genuine about that expression.

“Tom,” she replied amicably. “Just the man I’ve been searching for.”

He arched an elegant eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Hermione nodded. “I wanted to go to Hogsmeade. Care to join me?”

Riddle’s mouth curved up into a smile, flashing his white teeth at her. “But of course. My pleasure.”

Hermione had to suppress a shudder as Riddle’s warm hand casually slipped to the small of her back. Barely touching, he gently guided her through the corridor. Hermione drew in a shaky breath of air at the contact. It was quite the mystery how a touch could be such a terrible thing. Not because it scared Hermione, but because it was, in fact, such a tender gesture. She shook her head to rid her mind of those ridiculous thoughts. How strange it was to meander through Hogsmeade’s streets, arm in arm with Tom Riddle. Dared she say that it was even _enjoyable_?

“You are a very talented student,” Riddle commented, the compliment falling gracefully from his lips.

“Thank you,” replied Hermione politely. “You are a very good student yourself.”

Their exchanges of pleasantries were always spiked with a perverted amount of fun for Hermione. Riddle was such an easy conversationalist. When he spun his lies, it was like a form of art. His lips, his tongue could paint a masterpiece on any blank canvas, making people gawk and stare in wonder.

“Do you enjoy Hogwarts so far?” Riddle inquired politely as they strolled through Hogsmeade.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, presenting him with a pleasant smile. “It is quite lovely.”

The Slytherin thew her an attraktive smirk. “I hope you’re content with your house as well.”  
  
He gently flicked Hermione’s green and silver tie. Then he leaned down to her and whispered in her ear, his hot breath making her skin tingle all over,

“After all, I’m afraid we Slytherins have a little bit of a _reputation_ here at Hogwarts.”

Smoothly he stepped away from her, leaving her almost missing his warmth. Hermione blinked up at his face, a smile easily falling into place. Her mask was still there and would not fall.  

“Don’t worry,” she teased Riddle, smirking up at him. “I do like a bit of danger. Otherwise, things get so boring.”

Riddle seemed to enjoy their little exchange, so full of innuendo. As Hermione scanned him, she was drawn in by that impalpable aura of power swirling around him, enticing her to come closer still. His eyes, unfathomable pits, they whispered of dark things to her. Hermione could feel them drawing her in with a sweet, yet dangerous promise. Riddle smiled. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a menacing gesture. The curve of his lips was, indeed, quite appealing.

 

–

 

The Gaunts’ ring was absurdly easy to find. It was still hidden away in the old shack not far from Little Hangleton. Old magic protected its hiding place right under the shack’s mouldy flooring. Hermione knew where to look and what to avoid. It didn’t take her long to find Tom’s Horcrux-ring. It took even less of an effort to burn it.

Hermione stood in front of the Gaunts hut as it was devoured by her Fiendfyre. The orange glow of the blaze looked quite beautiful against the night sky. In between the hissing and spitting of the flames, Hermione could hear a wailing as the Horcrux-ring burst and released the dying soul.

So, it came that Riddle only had one Horcrux left. His precious diary was Hermione’s next target and she already looked forward to seeing it burn as well.

 

–

 

Hermione sat, deep in thought, on the platform of the Astronomy Tower. The firmament was darkened by the night’s kiss and only stars twinkled down on her. It was such a peaceful moment that it felt odd to her. Peace was not something she was used to anymore. Too soon, this precious peace was destroyed by the echoe of steps on the platform’s stone floor. Hermione turned her head and watched Riddle’s tall form walking towards her.  

“Hermione, Hermione.” He shook his head, fake disappointment saturating his teasing words. “What are you doing here? All alone?”

“Tom.” Hermione politely inclined her head. “Enjoying a bit of solitude, I would say.”

Gracefully, Riddle slid down on the floor and sat beside her. Hermione peered at him through the corners of her eyes. Riddle’s dark eyes slowly wandered over her body, an attractive smile hung from his lips.

“You know,” he told her smoothly. “It’s after curfew and you are not in your common room.”

A smirk curled Hermione’s lips as she heard that. As if anyone of them cared about such inconsequential things as curfews.

“You are right,” she acquiesced. “And I suppose that it falls upon you, being Head Boy, to punish me for my rule-breaking attitude.”

Riddle’s lips formed into a smile as he head that, his white teeth glinting. He tilted his head slightly as he regarded her.

“I think I can let it slide this once,” he replied silkily.

“How very generous.”

There was no sarcasm in her voice, but Riddle smirked as if he had heard it in her thoughts.

“Indeed.”

He casually leaned back on his hands, relaxed expression on his face. Hermione simply watched him, waiting for his next move.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” he said, a solemn tone wrapped around his words.

Seeing Hermione’s questioningly raised eyebrows, Riddle gestured at the Daily Prophet poking out of her bag. Hermione glanced at the newspaper, now intrigued. Today’s catch-line had been Grindelwald’s attack on an Aurors’ office in Paris. Many had died and the whole of France was in mourning for their dead officers.  

“It certainly is,” Hermione replied, adopting the required tone of sadness. “Terrible business.”

She glanced at Riddle, schooling her features to display nothing but sympathy for the dead and their loved-ones. Riddle scanned her with a very similar expression on his face. Hermione had to stop her lips from curving up into a cold smile. How nice they played together, a pair of liars.

“I agree,” Riddle finally said, voice controlled and unreadable. “Grindelwald’s actions are unreasonable… Imprudent, some would say.”

Hermione blinked at him, faux confusion swimming in her eyes. “Only his actions, though? What about his ideas?”

Riddle’s dark eyes wandered over her, piercing into her as if trying to assess how far he could go. At this moment, she could glimpse behind his façade of faux pity for Grindelwald’s victims. Behind that mask, there was nothing. Only coldness. It was strangely alluring, that coldness.

“His ideas…?” Riddle said innocently as if just now pondering the notion. “Some of them _do_ have merit. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Oh, she _should_ not agree, because Grindelwald was an insane murderer. But _would_ Hermione agree?

“Yes,” she replied steadily, as if being relieved to speak the truth.

Riddle flashed her an approving smile. It seemed, Hermione had just passed one of his tests. This time, she saw no reason to hold back that cold smirk from playing around her lips.

“I have been wondering,” Riddle changed the topic, silk seductively wrapped around his every word. “, if you might have time for some extracurricular activities.”

“Oh?” said Hermione innocently.

She knew he was slowly getting to the crux of this matter. Oh, how she enjoyed their dance. So smooth and satisfying.

“What kind of _activities_ would that be?”

Riddle chuckled melodiously as he heard the innuendo in Hermione voice.

“Don’t worry. I’m not suggesting anything untoward,” he reassured, the sultry tint in his voice belying him. “I just wondered if you wanted to join a little club I have started.”

As if captured by his words, Hermione slid a bit closer to him. Their bodies touched and she felt his warmth seeping into her.

“What kind of club are you speaking about?” Oh, she knew. So very well. But joining them? She would have never dreamed.

“A study club of sorts,” was Riddle’s smooth reply. “I would be honoured if you joined. Though there are certain… requirements you need to satisfy.”

“Hm,” Hermione mused and casually put her hand in his leg. “What requirements?”

Riddle smirked as he heard the faux naivety in her voice. They were still dancing and they both knew it. His dark eyes weighed heavily on her. Then he replied,

“Your membership depends on whether you are adverse to Dark Magic.”

Hermione gasped softly. “Dark Magic?” She glanced at Riddle. “Is that what you’re learning in this club?”

“Dark Magic,” Riddle said, an almost loving touch to his otherwise so cold voice. “, cannot be learned and studied from books. It needs to be used, practised. You need to feel its power to truly understand. Dark Magic is a form of art.”

“Most people would disagree,” Hermione remarked, voice unreadable.

“Probably,” Riddle relented, glancing at her. “But the important question is, whether _you_ disagree.”

Hermione gazed at him for a moment, mesmerised by his beautiful dark eyes. Then she said firmly,

“Dark Magic is dangerous.”  
  
“Quite so,” Riddle agreed. He leaned closer to her and Hermione could feel his hot breath softly fanning over her skin as he whispered seductively into her ear, “But dangerous or not, forbidden or not, Dark Magic is power.”

_‘Magic is might.’_ Hermione smirked slightly. She turned her head and looked up into his unfathomable dark eyes.

“I think you are wrong,” she told him, voice level.

A furrow appeared between his eyebrows and disappointment flittered through his eyes. Hermione didn’t care, but continued in a blank voice,

“Dark Magic is not power. It is destruction and chaos.”

The irritation on Riddle’s face intensified. Seemingly disappointed with the conversation and with her conviction, he now obviously just wanted to get away from Hermione. She was faster than him, though. Smiling a small secretive smile, Hermione bent a bit closer to Riddle. As if telling him a huge secret she whispered to him, voice sultry and deep,

“And I do _so_ like destruction.”

Riddle stiffened at her closeness. Hermione smiled inwardly as she saw pleasant surprise and then approval showing on his pale face.

 

–

 

Did Hermione become a Death Eater? A Knight? _His_ follower? It was hard to tell. In any way, it was a masquerade. She still danced with Riddle, but now they were getting closer and closer. It was a dangerous and exhilarating occurrence. Hermione never forgot how incredibly powerful Lord Voldemort really was. She doubted she would ever be able to win a duel against Riddle, but then again she had no intention of duelling him. This was a dance after all. Yes? Nothing else, perfectly balanced. Riddle might be powerful but Hermione knew who he really was and what he was capable of. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Riddle’s fake persona would have blinded her, too, but she came from the future and she knew. Suddenly, Riddle, the Manipulator, was beat at his own game of lies and half-truths. The best thing was: He didn’t even know it. Here in the folds of time, Hermione hid. She was quite safe, protected, ultimately, by her enemy’s ignorance. _Time_ , Hermione thought often with a smirk on her face, _could be a cruel and a wonderful thing._

“Did you already write Merrythought’s essay?” a smooth voice interrupted Hermione’s ponderings.

She arched her eyebrows languidly and looked at the black-haired girl sitting beside her. Walburga Black, to Hermione’s utmost surprise, had turned out to be quite the pleasant company. A slight smirk twisted Hermione’s lips as she watched the girl. Walburga’s carefully plucked eyebrows arched inquisitively while the expression on her pretty face remained to be unreadable.

“Yes,” Hermione finally replied. “I actually did finish it yesterday.”

“Wonderful,” commented Walburga, seemingly bored. “Do you want me to go over it and proofread?”

A snicker left Hermione. Walburga and her underhanded ways were always entertaining. Whatever Hermione had previously thought of the house of Slytherin, since meeting Walburga she had changed her views. This game they played was highly amusing.

“I assume,” Hermione said in a level voice as she scanned Walburga. “, you haven’t finished your own essay, have you?”

Walburga’s silence was answer enough, so Hermione gladly continued, “On top of that, the essay’s due tomorrow.”

Her little ploy unmasked, Walburga shrugged her shoulders. Hermione sighed in exasperation and pulled the essay from her school bag. A smirk drifted over her face as she handed the parchment to Walburga.

“You owe me,” Hermione said contently.

Walburga sniffed at her, unimpressed, and clasped the parchment. She unrolled it and put it on the table, right beside her own, yet empty, piece of parchment. Then she reached for her quill and started to write, unabashedly using Hermione’s essay. Hermione ignored Walburga’s offence and lazily perused her book. It was almost an hour later that she spoke up again.

“Walburga?” Hermione asked into the silence.

“Yes?” The girl peered at the ex-Gryffindor through her dark eyes.

“Do you think Good and Evil truly exist?”

“What kind of question is that?” Walburga replied, confusion on her face.

“I’m just wondering. Do you think that there is a force of Good and Evil in this world, and that sooner or later we have to take sides?”

The Slytherin girl pondered that for a moment. Then she said, “That’s a difficult question. I mean, what is evil? Or good? It’s lacking in definition.”

Hermione nodded absentmindedly before she whispered, “But there _are_ things that everybody knows are evil. Crimes, murder and violence. Dark Magic. Hate.”

Walburga snickered softly, “I’m almost too afraid to ask where you are going with this.”

“I’m not too sure myself.”

Hermione sighed tiredly and ran a hand through her curly hair.

“I guess,” she continued hesitantly. “, I was hoping for an underlying structure. An ultimate definition of Good and Evil, if you so want. Something that gives direction.”  
  
Walburga turned her face away from the fire, crackling in the fireplace, and looked at Hermione. A smile tugged at her lips. It was quite surprisingly not a smirk.

“That would certainly make things a lot easier, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess so…” breathed Hermione and stared into the orange fire.

The conversation lapsed into silence as both girls watched the wood burn with hissing flames.

“But if it’s not there, this structure,” voiced Hermione after a long stretch of silence. “If there is truly no Good nor Evil, doesn’t that give us… freedom?”

Walburga leaned back in the couch and let her head fall against the backrest. Her pretty dark eyes stared up at the ceiling while her red lips curled into a grin.

“You know what, Hermione?” the Slytherin mused. “Sometimes, you scare me. Really and truly scare me.”

Hermione let the words wash over her. They might be said in jest but she could hear honesty hidden underneath. She even had to agree with Walburga. Sometimes, Hermione was scared, too, of herself and the darkness. If there was a definition of Good and Evil, then Hermione had forgotten.

 

–

 

While Walburga had become Hermione’s friend, as much as Hermione was able to allow such intimacy, Riddle was not even close to being her friend. And yet, Hermione spent most of her time with him. As if drawn to each other, the two of the brightest students Hogwarts had ever seen spent a great amount of time in each other’s presence. To a certain extent, Hermione even enjoyed it. Riddle was indeed dark and dangerous, but in a way this deadly dance with him was incredibly enjoyable. Her mission was still there, calling for her, and she longed to accomplish it, but for a moment Hermione danced. With Riddle and fate.

Even today, when it was a Sunday and she could hide away from Riddle, Hermione still calmly sat beside him. Leaned against an old tree, they lounged not far away from the Great Lake in the soft grass. Riddle’s close proximity was strangely exciting. Hermione never liked playing with fire – that had been more Harry’s expertise, or Ron’s – with Riddle, though, she was willing to make an exception.

“So, you think there is nothing?” Hermione asked softly, continuing their conversation. “No heaven to reward good people and no purgatory either?”

Riddle shrugged, dark eyes wandering over the waters of the Great Lake. “It _does_ seem a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?”

Hermione leaned back against the tree and pursed her lips in contemplation. Riddle continued in his smooth voice,

“Of course, who am I to rule out such a Christian concept? But as long as no-one decides to come back from the dead, how are we supposed to know for sure?”

Hermione peered at him. Dusk was falling. Darkness slowly crept over the ground, already reaching greedily out at them.

“What about ghosts?” she asked nonchalantly. “They are dead people’s imprints.”

“Maybe,” Riddle sneered. “But the ghosts themselves are not dead. Merely trapped in-between. They cannot give us any information.”

Hermione nodded pensively. Her hand absentmindedly skimmed over a mossy root. Moisture clung to her fingers, ice cold in the evening air.

“So, you don’t think there’s an afterlife?” she inquired softly. “Just… nothing?”

“It’s the most likely scenario.”

Hermione’s eyes wandered to Riddle. A small smile played around her lips as she commented,

“If that indeed is true, then we don’t have to be afraid of death, do we?”

Riddle’s dark eyes slowly wandered over her. There was no emotion on Riddle’s pale face, still Hermione sensed that he wanted further explanation.

“Whatever we do during life,” she said softly. “We would not be judged for it after death. There would be no flames of hell punishing us for past misdeeds. We would simply disappear.”

“Oblivion…” Riddle mused, voice uncharacteristically tender. “Don’t you think that would be even worse?

 

–

 

Tom’s diary was, admittedly a bit more difficult to get a hold of than his ring. In Hermione’s time period, the diary had found its own way into Harry’s hands. This was why it took Hermione some time to get a hold of the cursed book. She was persistent in her search and, a few weeks later, was rewarded. In retrospect, Hermione supposed she should have found the diary sooner. As it was with the Gaunts’ ring, Voldemort had decided to put the diary right where it belonged. And where else would a magical book belong, but in Hogwarts’ library?

Heavy wards veiled the diary’s existence. The restricted section of the library was wrapped in many warding spells and quite a few curses, so that no-one would notice the wards Riddle had added to it. Hermione only noticed Riddle’s alterations because she was looking for them. It didn’t take her long to unravel them and, finally, she could set eyes on the small black book. Quite innocently the diary sat on a bookshelf as if it had every right to be there. A sense of satisfaction seized Hermione as she grabbed the diary and carried it out of Hogwarts and into the Forbidden Forest where she burned it.

In all honesty, it was laughably easy. The piece of Riddle’s soul burned and Hermione stood by, watching, laughing. She was almost feeling nostalgic there.

Riddle was mortal again.

 

{{{{{{{{+}}}}}}}}

 


	3. Kill your Dreams

With the ring and the diary, all Horcruxes were gone. Hermione breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. She was so close. So close to accomplish her precious mission.

In the future, Voldemort had drowned Hermione’s world in war. He had killed loved-ones and destroyed her life. It was Voldemort’s wrath and his cruelty that had made Hermione travel back in time. The destruction of everything that was dear to her gave birth to her mission. For it wasn’t a rescue mission. Hermione did not intent to save her future and the lives of her friends. No. She had seen her world burning down and whatever she did there was no saving it for her. It was all gone. Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord had destroyed her life. He had broken her and Hermione didn’t think it was possible to mend her. So, here she was, in the past, with her mission.

_Revenge._

Riddle had taken everything from her and Hermione would do the same to him. She would take the one thing, that he feared to lose above all else: His life.

…and she was going to enjoy it.

Hermione was going to take her sweet time to grant Riddle the death he truly deserved. A sick smile flittered over her otherwise stony face. She had seen so many people die and every time something inside of her had died with them. With Riddle, though, it would be different. His death, she would enjoy. His death would give her something back.

The timeline would, of course, be destroyed the moment Tom Riddle died. But what did Hermione care? It wasn’t really her problem, was it? She didn’t intend to go back to her time period, so she would never find out what happened there. Maybe McGonagall would be shocked by her indifference, but McGonagall was dead. She couldn’t speak anymore and she probably couldn’t care anymore either.

Just like Hermione.

 

–

 

 

To kill someone, if one was determined, wasn’t that hard. Hermione had always been good in potions. In her second year, she had been able to brew Polyjuice Potion. To make a little bit of poison was almost tragically easy.

Riddle was so unsuspecting. Who would be crazy enough to try to poison someone in Hogwarts? Even if, _why_ would that insane person then target the innocent and charming Head Boy? Surely, there would be no reason to do that.

None at all.

Hermione spiked his drink. Wasn’t it said that if a woman decided to murder, in most of the cases she would use poison? Well, who was Hermione to destroy that statistic? In the Great Hall she sat at her place at Slytherin table and watched, almost gleefully, as Riddle raised his cup. Of course there had been the small risk that someone else sat in Riddle’s seat tonight and would consecutively get poisoned. Hermione couldn’t say she would have been too sad if another Slytherin drank the poison. So, she had taken the risk.

Luck was on her side. As usual Riddle sat like a king among his knights. If his cup was the Holy Grail, though, this time it brought death not life. Hermione very much enjoyed her chicken sandwich as she watched Riddle sealing his own fate. The poison wouldn’t kill him instantly, that would have been folly. A dead Head Boy in the Great Hall? Oh no, Hermione wouldn’t have been able to relish in his death if it had been that quick.

“You seem in a good mood today,” Walburga commented.

The black-haired beauty looked at Hermione with an arched eyebrow.

“Yes,” agreed Hermione lightly. “It’s a fine day today.”

Walburga nodded, looking up at the starry sky through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall.

“It is,” the girl said. “Almost over, though.”

“That it is,” Hermione agreed as her eyes wandered back to Riddle. “…almost over.”

 

–

 

Supper was finished. Hermione smoothly got up from her seat and, leaving Walburga behind, followed Riddle out of the Great Hall. There was a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and Hermione was unable to suppress it.

“Riddle?” She held him back.

Riddle turned around. A smirk ghosted around his lips as he recognized her.

“Hermione,” he almost purred at her.

“I was wondering,” Hermione said, banning all glee from her voice. “, if you had time for me? Just a moment?”

“Of course,” Riddle replied in his melodious voice. “We could talk in the common room.”  
  
Hermione shook her head. “No. I’m afraid it is something private.”

“I see.”  
  
Without questioning any further, he gently grabbed Hermione’s arm and led her down the corridor. They descended to the dungeons and soon found an abandoned room. It was stuffy, dark and small. Just perfect for Hermione’s purpose.

“So?” Riddle turned to her. “How can I help you.”

He still stood tall, scanning Hermione with his beautiful dark eyes. His face, though, was a shade paler than usual and Hermione spotted a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. It made her smirk contently.

“Wait a second,” she said and pulled her wand.

A single wave at the door and Hermione cast a Silencing Charm. Her actions made Riddle arch an elegant eyebrow.

“Now you’ve made me curious.”

Hermione smiled at him, thoroughly enjoying the situation.

“Oh, it is nothing too spectacular. I was just wondering… The Knights…” she started, voice pleasant, affable. “What have you planned for them? After all, Tom, we’re already in our seventh year. We’ll leave Hogwarts soon. I’m sure you have plans for afterwards?”

Riddle smiled at her slyly and stepped a bit closer to her. He was still composed, in control, but Hermione was looking very closely and could see more. His hands trembled and his pupils were dilated. His face had got even paler.

“In fact, I _do_ have plans for after school,” Riddle admitted, dark voice washing over Hermione. “Why, Hermione, are you interested?”

“You know me, Tom.” Hermione winked at him teasingly. “I am always interested to learn new things.”  
  
A smile played around Riddle’s mouth, his eyes glinting greedily. Then he said smoothly, though there was an almost unnoticeable quiver to his voice,

“I would very much like to have you on-board. You are a very talented and smart witch.” He cast her a seductive smile, white teeth flashing. “And beautiful, too.”

“Oh, come on, Tom. You’re making me blush.” Hermione shook her head, smiling indulgently. Then she continued lightly, “I heard from the others you have great plans. I would really like to participate.”

Riddle nodded, content sheen in his eyes. The moment was destroyed as he had to cough painfully, more sweat running down his forehead.

“Indeed, I really look forward to it,” Hermione allowed, sick amusement bubbling up in her as she watched his struggles. She arched her eyebrows at Riddle’s shaky form and inquired innocently, “Are you alright?”

“Y- yes,” Riddle replied, rather breathlessly.

“Good. I was worried for a second,” Hermione noted quietly. “After all, you are the leader of the Knights. They are nothing without you. We can’t have our leader getting sick, now can we?”

Her words were accompanied by nothing but earnest concern for her friend and master. Still, for the first time, there was a hint of suspicion crossing Riddle’s face. Straightening his shoulders, he said firmly,

“I'am fine.”

Hermione threw him a smile. She could see his whole body trembling by now. He tried to hide it, presenting her with a strong mask, but his weakness was seeping through.

“Can I ask you a question?” she inquired blandly.

Riddle inclined his head, seemingly out of breath. Ignoring his waning health, Hermione continued easily,

“I always wondered, you see. After all, it was a thousand years of confinement…” She stepped closer to Riddle and whispered, words sharp as a blade, “How did the Basilisk survive all those years down there in Slytherin’s chamber.”

As expected, Riddle’s eyes widened in shock. Hastily he tried to hide his surprise behind an impenetrable mask.

“I beg your pardon?” he said, honest confusion lacing his tone.

Hermione giggled lightly as if he had told a joke.

“The basilisk, in the Chamber of Secrets…?” she elaborated innocently like she were discussing the weather. “How did it not starve to death in those long, long years?”

Riddle narrowed his eyes at her, fury mounting up. Yet he tried to hide his emotions, but she knew they were there. Already his magic stormed around him, angered by her inquisition. There were holes in his powerful magic, though, spots of decay.

“I don’t kn-“ Riddle had to stop, once again disturbed by a coughing fit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Hermione said, harsh sarcasm bending her words. Then she suggested loftily, “Now, how about you tell the truth?”

Riddle pressed his mouth into a thin line. Hermione knew her questions disturbed him, yet he hadn’t attacked her. And she knew why. By now, Riddle trembled violently. As he now stepped closer to Hermione, obviously with the intend to grab her arm, he lost his balance. Helplessly, Riddle crashed to the floor, unable to support his weight any longer.

“Oh dear,” Hermione said, mock concern in her tone. “Are you alright? Was it the lies that pulled you down?”

Riddle glared up at her, probably wishing to strangle her. Still, Hermione could also see the pain in his eyes. It was, to his credit, well concealed, but she knew where to look. A thin smile played around Hermione’s lips as she looked down at Riddle.

“How do you know…?” he asked, fury in his rough voice. “Who _are_ you?”

Hermione’s smile turned into an evil grin. It was time to drop the lies. Both, Riddle’s and her mask had been well played, but the curtain would drop soon and the actors needed to be unmasked. Their dance came to a close

“I would like to call myself Justice,” Hermione said, voice cold as ice. “But I don’t want to lie to a dying man. So, you might call me Vengeance.”

Riddle swallowed dryly. Hermione noted how his breathing was laboured now, not able to repress the pain any longer. She enjoyed the sight.

“ _You_ did this to me, didn’t you?” Riddle demanded to know, eyes glinting with rage. As she smilingly inclined her head, he snapped, “Why?”

Hermione snickered softly. There was a small drop of blood at the corner of his mouth, slowly it rolled down his skin until it dropped from his chin unto his pristinely white uniform shirt. It left behind a ghastly red stain on the white fabric. It suited Riddle well, Hermione decided. Calmly, she replied to his question,

“I’m very sure you can think of quite a few reasons as to _why_ someone might want to kill you. In my case, though,“ A nasty smirk curled her lips. “, I simply enjoy seeing you go.”

A murderous flame burned in Riddle’s eyes. It was quite intimidating, that expression on his face, very reminiscent of the Dark Lord. It could not frighten Hermione, though. She knew he had lost his claws and would never be able to strike again.

“Don’t think you have won,” he hissed, venom in his voice. “I’ll get you, Hermione. You will regret this.”

Hermione blinked at him, visibly not impressed. “That would be rather difficult, wouldn’t it? If you’re dead?”

Riddle’s lips curved into an insidious smirk, revealing blood stained white teeth.

“I _will_ kill you,” he promised, dark threat woven in his tone.

Hermione simply giggled. “Oh, that’s funny. Really entertaining,” she mocked him. “You plan to come back from the dead, Riddle? Pray tell, how are you going to accomplish that feat?”

The dark smirk didn’t leave Riddle’s face. “You silly little girl,” he scoffed cruelly. “Someone like you will never defeat me. In the end, I will make you regret your actions.”

Hermione bent a bit forwards, looking straight in his eyes. She wouldn’t want to miss any emotion forming in his eyes, on his face. Not when she revealed her final secret.

“Nothing is going to save you, Riddle,” she breathed softly, almost seductively. “Not your power. Not your magic. And certainly not your Horcruxes.”

There it was. Fear. Oh, how Hermione had longed to see it. Raw, wild and painful fear welled up in Riddle’s dark eyes. He even slightly flinched away from her. His emotionless mask was forgotten and shock appeared on his face.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Hermione said contently. “I travelled a long, _long_ way simply to kill you. Wouldn’t want to mess this up now, would I?”

Riddle stared at her, his face, if possible, paler still. She could see him trembling so deliciously.

“T- this is impossible,” he whispered and even his voice was shaky.

“Impossible?” Hermione said, harsh derision in her tone. “For someone to find an old diary and a golden ring? For someone to destroy them with demonic fire? An _impossible_ task? Really?”

She raised a hand and ran her fingers gingerly through his dark hair. Riddle flinched at the touch, but Hermione did not retreat. Abruptly, her fingers clawed into his hair, harshly grabbing a fistful. She forced his head back and enjoyed the soft gasp of pain that tore from his lips. A smirk on her face, she scanned him. Unmistakably, the fear was still obvious in his dark eyes and blood slowly dripped from the corners of his mouth, running down his chin. It was quite the satisfying sight.

“How does it feel, Riddle?” she jeered. “To know that a Mudblood managed what you thought was _impossible_?”

Riddle’s eyes widened marginally with surprise. “A Mudblood…?”

“Of course I’m not a Pureblood.” A cold snicker fell from Hermione’s lips before she elaborated, “I am just like you, Riddle. Everything about me is a lie.”

For a second the Slytherin just stared at her, obviously at a loss. Then he coughed painfully. Hermione let go of his hair and Riddle sagged down to the floor. Weakly he raised his face and looked at her.

“You can’t kill me,” he whispered, voice raspy. “People will miss me and search for me. They’ll find out it was you.”

A wide grin split Hermione’s face. Sick politeness was wrapped around her tone as she said innocently, “Surely people will _notice_ that you are gone, but _miss_ you? I think not.”

Riddle’s hand trembled violently as he raised it and wearily wiped over his face, smearing blood. Hermione ignored his pain and continued,

“No-one will convict me. I am nothing but a ghost. After this, I will disappear.” She laughed cruelly. “I will disappear and live in joy, knowing that _I_ was the one who killed you.”

Tom stared at her, eyes wide. He barely managed to keep himself up, half curled on the floor. Hermione leaned down to him and whispered into his ear,

“It’s time to go, Tom.”

He shook his head. Then he looked up at her, desperation swimming in his eyes.

“No, _please_.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. She should probably feel something. Something other than satisfaction. Maybe guilt… or pity? There was nothing, though. And she had Voldemort to thank for that. Hermione had always known he had taken everything from her, but it was only now that she realized that there was indeed nothing left of Hermione Granger.

“I am not sorry,” she told Riddle.

This time the scoff had left her tone. There was only indifference now. Riddle raised a shaky hand and grasped her wrist.

“Please,” he breathed, pain and fear in his shaky voice.

Hermione looked at the hand touching her and furrowed her brow. It was a waste, how she could suddenly not enjoy this anymore. There was simply nothing. The joy was gone and with it satisfaction. They left nothing but indifference. Hermione exhaled slowly. She raised her eyes and they met with Riddle’s injured gaze. They stared at each other for a while. Hermione could see the life leaving him. There was barely anything left now. His breathing slowed down and became shallow.

“If it is any consolation,” Hermione told him, her voice hollow and empty. “, the world will be a better place without you.”

Riddle’s eyes widened for a fraction. A rattled breath left him and more blood flowed from his mouth. Then he whispered, barely audible,

“You are-“

 

–

 

What Riddle thought Hermione was, she never found out. He died before he could finish his last thought. It was a puzzle. A question without answer. Prior to the war, prior to her world being torn apart, Hermione would have been driven crazy by an unanswered question. She would have ventured to the library and stayed there until she found her solution. She would have plowed through thousands of books, convinced that one would hold her answer.

Now… ?

Now, she found that she didn’t care. There wasn’t much she cared about nowadays. Certainly, there was nothing that could bring such past excitement Hogwarts’ library had once managed to evoke. No book could make her feel enthusiastic anymore. There was no hidden knowledge she wanted to uncover. Riddle’s last words, they meant nothing to her. Curiosity, it seemed, had died on her.

No. No, there was not much left.

 

{{{{{{{{+}}}}}}}}

 


End file.
